


it heals with time

by itisjosh



Series: sparks [hybrid smp] [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Bitterness, Broken Bones, Depression, Developing Friendships, Family Dynamics, Fear of Flying, Fluff and Angst, Flying, Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Resentment, Trust Issues, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wingfic, Wings, but it does get better, promise :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: Tommy is an avian, an avian who is unable to fly. The closest thing he can get to flying is racing along the tops of the trees, and when that goes horribly wrong, he finds himself with two broken legs and in the care of two other hybrids. He's pissed off and bitter, and those emotions only get worse and worse.Up until another boy, a shulker hybrid, turns up at their doorstep.Then things don't seem to be as bad as they once were.(or, the story of how chickeninnit breaks his legs and learns how to heal)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: sparks [hybrid smp] [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157417
Comments: 8
Kudos: 236





	it heals with time

Tommy can't remember the last time that he felt this free. He leaps from treetop to treetop, gliding down, his feet hitting the densely packed leaves before he jumps again. He laughs as he goes, feeling his wings spread out. Tommy wishes that they were bigger, that they weren't as small as they are. He keeps running, taking bigger jumps, challenging himself to go further, to go faster. He grins, leaping up onto a tree that's significantly taller than the others. He can't fly, at least not very well, and this is the most freeing thing he can do in place of him being unable to fly. Wind rushes in his ears, blowing past him, ruffling his hair and his clothes. Tommy grins even so hard that the sides of his face hurt, he barks out laughter as he rushes along the treetops, feeling free and happy. Tommy keeps running, and he barely even notices the fact that there are no trees after the one he's on. 

Tommy can't stop himself in time. 

He leaps right off of the tree, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he tries to flap his wings, desperately trying to catch himself, to save himself. Tommy screams when he feels his wings flutter weakly, not even close to enough to be able to support his weight. He reaches up, trying to grab anything in his sight, but he only ends up cutting his palms and arms open with sticks, branches digging into his flesh. Tommy cries out again, the wind rushing past him. His heart has stopped, his eyes are burning and watering and he-

He feels himself hit the ground. Tommy thinks he screams, but he's not sure, he isn't sure of anything other than that it _hurts_ , the pain is _awful_. 

It's the worst pain that he's ever felt and he can't breathe he's dying he's going to die he's-

_Nothing. There's nothing._

* * *

Tommy blinks open his eyes, unable to feel the lower half of his body. Everything from his waist down is numb, and he feels..he doesn't..

Tommy looks up at the ceiling, panic flaring up in his chest. He's not somewhere that he recognises, he's not outside like he remembered. The last thing that he remembers is falling to the ground, he remembers accidentally jumping off of a tree and plummeting to his doom, and now he's not there. He isn't where he was left, and that's fucking terrifying, because someone moved him - he didn't fucking move on his own, no way in hell did he move after that fall. Tommy feels his head spin, he feels his chest hurt and tighten with terror and fear, a mixture of anxiety and nervousness stirring in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know where he is or who he's with or who's in this house, and he's _scared_ , he's really fucking scared. 

He shifts as well as he can, wondering if he would be in pain if he could actually feel anything. Maybe he broke his legs? But that wouldn't make sense. If he broke his legs, surely he'd feel the pain from that, right? Tommy broke an arm before, and that was one of the worst pains he's ever felt in his entire life, so he's positive that he would know if he actually broke his legs. Tommy closes his eyes, biting down on his lip as thoughts flood his head. He could've just damaged his legs or his back so badly that he can't feel anything. That's something that happens a lot to people like him. They get all ambitious and they think that they can fly or do something like that, and then they end up hurting themselves.

Just like what Tommy did. 

_God_ , he's _fucking stupid_. Tommy groans, slapping his forehead as he stares up at the stupid ceiling above him. He's _so_ fucking stupid, what the hell is _wrong_ with him? He doesn't understand why the fuck he thought it'd even be a good idea to do that, to jump from tree to tree, to get the illusion of flying. Tommy is such a fucking idiot, and he can't believe that his stupidity has gotten him here. Tommy groans again, squeezing his eyes shut, screwing up his face. Now he's gotten himself stuck in someone's house, someone who he definitely doesn't know, and he might've broken his legs. He should have known that trying to do something fun for once in his life would only get him hurt, he should have known that. Tommy should have known better. He's not meant to fly, he isn't built to fly. 

"Oh, you're up."

Tommy nearly screams at the sudden sound of a voice next to him, jerking himself up, staring at the figure. The man in front of him is sort of blue and grey mixed together, and he's a little bit more see through than Tommy thinks a person should be. His hair is dark blue, flecked with yellow and green. It'd probably look awful if he was a human, but he's clearly not. His eyes are bright green, ringed with yellow, and he doesn't have any pupils. He has a yellow jumper on, a black beanie that only lets some of his hair poke out. He looks a little older than Tommy, but probably not by that much. 

"What the _fuck_ ," Tommy breathes out, closing his eyes. He leans back in bed, wondering if the asshole in front of him thought it'd be fucking funny to scare him. "You're a real prick, you know that?" He sneers, opening his eyes, just to narrow them at the man. "Kind of fucked that you'd scare the shit out of someone who just woke up, huh? Kind of a real fucking dick move, isn't it?" Tommy glares at him, crossing his arms against his chest, feeling bitter and angry. He probably shouldn't direct his anger at this man, but he can't _help_ it. He's always been shit at controlling his emotions, that's something everyone he's ever met has told him. He _knows_ that he's bad at controlling his anger, but he doesn't know how he's supposed to stop. Everyone yells at him for it, but no one ever bothers to try and help him figure it out. "Sorry," Tommy breathes out, deciding to try and salvage whatever relationship he and this guy could have had. "I'm just.." 

The man in front of him offers a smile and a shrug, not looking all that bothered by Tommy's outburst. That's a first, Tommy thinks to himself as he watches the man shift back and forth on his feet, looking sort of uncomfortable. "It's all good, don't worry about it too much. I should have knocked or something, I'm sorry about that. I'm Wilbur," Wilbur beams at him, offering a hand. Tommy doesn't shake it, waiting until Wilbur retracts his hand to move his arms from being crossed. "I found you out in the yard, but Phil was the one who brought you in. I can't go out in the sun. What kind of hybrid are you?" 

Tommy blinks, the suddenness of the information is all too much. His head hurts, his head really fucking hurts. Everything hurts, the more he thinks about it. He's tired and his body aches and he feels like he's fucking died and been brought to life, and now this guy, this _Wilbur_ guy, is rambling on about shit that Tommy just does not care about in the slightest, and it's _too fucking much_. He forces himself to breathe in and out, thinking back on all of those exercises that he was taught when he was younger, whenever he'd get overwhelmed by sounds or noises or whatever. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, focusing on nothing and everything at the same time. Thankfully, it doesn't take all that long for Tommy's head to stop spinning this time. 

"I'm..Tommy," he offers, keeping his eyes shut. There's a window open in this room somewhere, and it's far too bright. "I'm just..I'm a bird hybrid, or something like that," he mutters, feeling bitter and angry all over again. "I can't fucking fly, though, so there's not really much of a point in having these things," Tommy sits up, feeling his tiny wings spread out. They're fucking small. They're pathetic and small and weak and _useless_ , and Tommy hates them more than he could ever begin to even say. "I guess that I'm an avian, if that's what you're looking for, like.." he shrugs, trying to push down his anger. "A fucking term, or whatever." 

"Ah," Wilbur says, seemingly entirely unphased by Tommy's other outburst. Tommy wishes that he'd raise his voice or yell or do something to make Tommy feel justified in being angry at him, but he doesn't. "I'm a Phantom," Wilbur beams, his eyes sparkling a little, catching in the bright light that comes from the window. "Phil is a bird hybrid, too. I think he's an Elytrian..?" Wilbur gives him a half-shrug, narrowing his eyes for a few brief seconds. "I don't know. Maybe your wings just are taking more time than usual," Wilbur offers. "I mean, Phil is old as fuck, so maybe it'll just take time. You never know, right?" 

Tommy does know. He _does_ know, and he fucking knows because all of his friends were flying long before him. All of his friends grew out their wings and they took to the skies and they left him behind. None of them ever even fucking offered to take him with them, they all flew off and laughed without him, and his parents weren't any more of a help. _You'll grow into them! They'll grow!_ They told him, but Tommy could see through their lies, he could see it in their eyes and he could hear it in their voices that neither of them actually, truly believed that. And so Tommy stopped believing the lies, too, 'cause there was no fucking point in him even bothering to pretend anymore. 

"Whatever," he shrugs, looking away. He glares at the ground, crossing his arms against his chest once again. "Who even is Phil? You keep talking about him like I'm supposed to actually care, or if I'm supposed to, like," Tommy sighs. "Know him, or something. Is he.." he pauses, narrowing his eyes a little. He eyes Wilbur, scanning the man up and down. "He your dad, or something?" Wilbur grins at him, and Tommy really wishes that it was easier for him to hate Wilbur. Wilbur looks..nice. He looks like a good person, he looks kind, and Tommy _really_ wishes it was easier for him to be angry. "I mean, not like it would really make sense, since you're a fucking..Phantom, or whatever, but.." 

"He's sort of my dad," Wilbur laughs. "In some weird, fucked up way. Not officially or anything, and I think I'd rather die before I ever called him dad, but.." Wilbur smiles, ducking his head as if he's recalling a fond memory. Tommy really doesn't want to see his face anymore. He doesn't want to see this man laugh and grin in front of him when Tommy is so unbelievably pissed off and angry and bitter about..just everything, really. He's just..he's angry. Tommy is really, really angry. He's angry that he fucked up and managed to hurt himself so badly that he had to be taken in by two people that he doesn't even know. He's angry that he thought he could fucking do something fun for the first time in his life. He's angry at himself. He's angry and Wilbur and whoever Phil is. Tommy is just really, really angry, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to stop being angry. "He'll probably come in here in a few minutes. He's just getting bandages. Food, too. Water, probably."

Tommy feels a pang of hunger as soon as the words leave Wilbur's mouth, and he briefly wonders when the last time he ate was. He wonders when he was awake last, he wonders if he slept for a week or if he's only been sleeping for a few hours. Tommy sighs, feeling tired and pathetic and angry, mostly angry. "What're your powers?" Tommy asks, only to fill the silence. He hates the quiet, he hates being entirely quiet when someone else is around. "I didn't even see you come in," he pauses, squinting at the door. The door is closed. The door is fucking closed. "How the hell.." Wilbur grins at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

"Phantoms can go invisible," Wilbur tells him, puffing out his chest a bit. "Here, watch," and a second right after he says those words, he's gone. He disappears, and then he reappears a moment later. Wilbur grins a little more, looking far too proud of himself for that little trick. "I can also go through walls and floors," he waves a hand. "I can sort of just disappear from, like, actually living," he laughs, clapping his hands together. "I can reappear wherever I want, but it takes _so_ much energy," he sighs. "Plus, I can't go out in the sun. That's how I met Phil, actually. I nearly passed out on his doorstep 'cause I got caught out in the sun and I couldn't get out of it fast enough. I burn in the sunlight," Wilbur's smile fades a little. "Quite literally." Tommy looks away, shuddering a little at the thought of not being able to go out into the daylight. That would fucking suck, he thinks to himself silently.

"Sucks," Tommy mumbles, looking away from Wilbur. He focuses on looking down at his hands instead, pausing for a second. He grips the blanket that lays over him, and pulls it off, tossing it to the ground. Tommy flinches at the sight, staring at his legs. They're purple and bruised, red and swollen and they look so fucking damaged, it's..it's fucking disgusting, it makes him want to throw up. For the first time since he's woken up, Tommy decides that he's glad that he can't feel anything. "How long..how long have I been..you know," he swallows, feeling like he's going to be sick. He looks away from his legs, silently breathing out when Wilbur puts the blanket back over them. "How long was I sleeping for?" 

"A day or two," Wilbur tells him. "Not very long. Phil thought you'd be passed out for a lot longer. When you fell, you really damaged your back, apparently. You landed right on your legs, and I think that.." he pauses, tapping his fingers against the bed. "I think that Phil said you'd heal completely in a few weeks. Six weeks, I think? Maybe a couple of months, maybe like, five months. Probably not, though," Wilbur shrugs. "You should probably be fine not too long from now."

Tommy swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm stuck here for six weeks at the least, and five months at the most? I'm fucking.." he breathes out, a soft, sad noise escaping his lips before he can bite it back. He's stuck here. He's stuck with two people who he doesn't know, he's stuck with two people who he's going to have to rely on entirely for up to five _fucking months_. Tommy shakes his head, feeling his chest hurt and ache, tightening as he thinks about being trapped here. "I don't like that," Tommy tells Wilbur, shaking his head again. "I don't want to stay here." Wilbur offers him a smile, tired and sort of sad. 

"I know. I didn't want to stay here, either," Wilbur admits. "I didn't want to have to get help from someone else, especially since I should have been able to get out of the sun fast enough. But.." he shrugs. "It's easier to deal with when you realise that you probably would have died if someone didn't actually step in to save you, you know? Once you heal, you'll be able to leave. You won't even have to see us ever again," Wilbur smiles. "I know that Phil is going to try and make it as comfortable here for you as he can, and I'll try my best to do the same. I'm sorry, Tommy. Really, I am. I know that I didn't want to stay here and heal for a few months, but I didn't really have a choice." 

Tommy nods, biting down on his lip, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, wishing that he could leave. Wishing that he didn't fucking jump off of that tree, wishing that he had been more careful. He _should have_ been more careful. Tommy should have known better, he should have fucking known better. "When is Phil going to come back?" He asks, the name feeling wrong on his tongue. "I'm..hungry. I guess that I haven't had anything to actually eat in a couple of days." 

"Yeah," Wilbur agrees, glancing over to the door. "He should be here in just a few more minutes. He's definitely just trying to figure out what would work best for you to eat. I think he figured out you're an avian, so that means.." Wilbur pauses, screwing up his face. "You can't eat meat, right? Only vegetables and stuff like that?" Tommy nods, leaning back in bed. He really doesn't want to eat anything. Tommy really just doesn't want to do anything. He wants to go back to sleep, and he doesn't think that he even wants to wake up this time. He just wants to leave this place, he wants to heal and get the fuck out of here. He wants to leave. "He's probably just finding something fresh, then. He's not gonna half-ass helping you, Tommy. Neither of us are," Wilbur smiles at him, gentle and full of kindness. Tommy really, really wishes that Wilbur made it easier to hate him. "Trust me, I get wanting to leave. I get not wanting to have help, but.." he shrugs. "Sometimes, you just don't have a choice." 

The words, although they're supposed to be soft and kind, are harsh. Tommy looks away from the man by his side, staring down at the floor. He doesn't have a choice in any of this. He's never even had a choice about most of his life, and with how things are going right now, he doesn't think that he ever will. Tommy breathes out, feeling his chest hurt, feeling his head spin. He doesn't have a choice about anything right now. He has to rely entirely upon two strangers who he doesn't know. Tommy doesn't know how long it'll be before he's allowed to leave, before he heals, and he hates that. 

He doesn't want to stay here.

But he doesn't even have the ability to walk away.

* * *

Phil is an Elytrian, and Tommy is unbelievably angry about that. Phil has huge wings, they stretch out for what seem to be miles, and he doesn't even flaunt them. He doesn't act like they're the best things ever, he doesn't act like he's lucky that he has them. To him, it seems like they just exist and nothing else, and Tommy hates that. He would _kill_ to have wings like that, he would kill to even have wings that just fucking _worked_. He finds it hard to talk to Phil knowing that he will never be on the same level as the other man. No matter what Tommy does, no matter what he can do, he'll never be the same as Phil. He'll never have wings like Phil, he'll never be able to fly like Phil can. He'll never be able to do any of the things that Phil can do, and it pisses him off to no end, and he hates it, because he _knows_ he shouldn't be jealous, but he _is_ , and he can't stop himself, no matter how hard he tries. 

Unfortunately for him, Phil and Wilbur are the only two people that he has to talk to, and Phil seems adamant on checking up on him every three goddamn seconds. Tommy lays back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable. To be fair, he always feels uncomfortable. He feels the sun shine down on him from the window in the wall, feeling the warmth settle on his chest and jaw. He sighs, slouching his shoulders as he looks up at the ceiling. Everything seems..hopeless. Everything _feels_ hopeless, _he_ feels hopeless. Tommy doesn't want to be in this room anymore, he doesn't want to stay in this place or in this house for any longer. Tommy wants to go and run outside, he wants to stay outside and sprint and jump and just be _out_ there, he doesn't want to be cooped up inside some strangers' house. Tommy isn't entirely sure what's gotten into him, but he's so much angrier than he normally is. 

He feels bitter and upset, and he's mad at Phil and Wilbur and the entire world actually, and he isn't able to stop himself from being those things. He wants to shout and scream and cry, he wants to break down, he wants to start throwing punches at the two people who he's forced to live with. Tommy is angry and pissed off and he's really fucking sad a lot of the time, and doesn't understand why. He's got no motivation to do anything, not like he can even do anything even if he wanted to, which he does. He _does_ want to do things, but he doesn't have the _motivation_ to do those things, and he hates it. Tommy has never felt like this before, and he doesn't understand why he's suddenly feeling so shit. Maybe it's because he can't walk or do anything that he used to be able to do. Maybe it's because he's forced to see Phil's wings all the time and be reminded of something that he'll never be able to do, even though he's supposed to be able to.

Tommy is supposed to be able to fly, he's supposed to be able to take off into the skies and soar throughout the clouds. He's _supposed_ to be able to do those things, but he's not able to, and he doesn't know why. His parents, his mom and dad, they were able to fly. His friends were all able to fly. Every single person that Tommy knew was able to fly, and they're probably flying right now, laughing and having fun up in the air. Up in a place where Tommy will never be able to go. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, he doesn't know why his wings are so small and pathetic and disgusting and stupid, and he doesn't think that he'll ever be able to figure that out. He wishes that he could, he wishes that he'd be able to figure out how to fly, how to force his wings to grow, but he can't. 

Tommy is never going to be able to fly, and he made peace with that, because he could still walk and run and jump and do everything else. But now, now he can't fucking fly _and_ he can't fucking walk, so he's angry. He's angry, and he doesn't care about stopping himself from being angry. Tommy is mad and bitter, and he thinks that he deserves to be those things. Tommy thinks that he should be allowed to be angry, because he's lost the only thing that had left.

He stares up at his ceiling, feeling hopeless and tired and upset and destroyed, and he doesn't really care about fixing those emotions anymore. Tommy watches as the light moves around the ceiling, flickering a few times, disappearing as the sun gets covered with clouds or when the curtains flutter up, covering the window. He both loves and hates having a window in this room. It makes him feel less awful, but it also is a constant reminder of a place where he can't go, not for a long time, at least. It's even worse when he wants to talk to Wilbur, or more accurately, when Wilbur wants to talk to him. He has to close the blinds on his window or else Wilbur will burn, and it's not fair that Tommy has to give up even more to speak to someone who he doesn't even want to talk to. Tommy sighs, huffing. He forces himself to sit up, shifting a little as he does. He tilts his head, heaving another sigh as he turns to face the window, looking out of the it. He can see Phil out there, stretching out his wings a few times before he's flying away, disappearing as he soars in the sky. Tommy wishes he could do that, he wishes so badly that he could fly. 

Tommy looks away from his window, biting down on his lip as hard as he can to distract himself from those thoughts. He hears his door creak open, glancing up at the figure who appears. Wilbur offers him a smile and a wave, a plate of food resting against his side, supported by one arm. "Morning, Tommy," Wilbur beams at him, flinching at the window. He goes invisible, disappearing right before Tommy's eyes. Tommy rolls his eyes, though not because it's funny that Wilbur's getting hurt. It's sort of funny to see a floating plate of food, though. "How are you feeling today? Can you feel anything in your legs, anything past your waist?"

"Nah," Tommy shakes his head, leaning forwards as much as he can to take the plate from Wilbur's hands. Tommy glances over at the hat on his nightstand, grabbing it and handing it to Wilbur. Wilbur can only be seen in clothes if he's put them on after he's gone invisible, which is weird as fuck, but Tommy doesn't really question it that much. Powers are weird, and they never really end up making sense the more you look into them. Just like how Tommy is an avian who can't fly. Wilbur puts on the hat, and Tommy can't help but smile a little. It's ridiculous to be talking to a floating hat, but he's admittedly gotten used to it. He picks at the salad in front of him, sighing. "It's been a week, right? Only like, four more and then I'll be able to get out of this place, right?" 

Wilbur sighs, sounding tired. He sounds tired a lot, Tommy's noticed. They all sound and look tired, other than Phil sometimes. "It's not a guarantee, Tommy. That's just best case scenario," Wilbur murmurs. "It'd be nice if you could leave at a set time, but you're probably going to have to stay longer than expected. Plans are nice, planned dates are cool, but that's probably not going to happen. Plans always seem to fall through, you know?" 

"I guess," he sighs, turning his head. Tommy stares out of the window, desperately wishing he could be out there, desperately wishing he didn't have to sit in this bed all the goddamn time. "Where is Phil going?" Tommy asks, raising an eyebrow over at Wilbur, turning his head back to face the man. "He doesn't normally go out this early, does he?" 

"Sometimes he does," Wilbur tells him, leaning back on his heels. Tommy can tell by the way the hat moves, and it's hard to not smile when the hat moves with every grand gesture Wilbur's surely making with his arms and hands. In the time that he's spent here, he's learnt that Wilbur talks primarily through his hands. He makes motions and gestures with them all the time, he doesn't stop moving them whenever he talks. Sure, he never shuts the fuck up verbally, but he uses his hands more than he does his voice, Tommy's fairly certain. "He likes to go out and fly early in the morning, when no one else is awake for the most part," Wilbur shrugs. "I mean, I tend to try and stay up at night, since that's the only time I can actually go out. Oh, and in the rain. Thank god for the rain." Wilbur laughs, clapping his hands together. The sound echoes around the both of them, and Tommy can't help but feel a little unnerved by the noise that doesn't have a visualization with it. 

Tommy doesn't say anything, opting to just pick at his food. He doesn't really want to eat the more he thinks about it. He hasn't wanted to eat ever since he came here, and he thinks that's probably just him being angry. It's probably him just being upset at himself, and if he's upset, he stops wanting to eat, he's learnt. He picks at the salad in front of him, wondering if he'll manage to actually get any of it down today. Eating has been a lot harder for him recently in the past couple of days. "Um," he clears his throat, staring firmly down at his lap, at the blankets. He tries his best to forget how bruised and broken his legs looked the last time he took the blankets off. "Do you think Phil would help me get out of bed so I could go out there?" He waves to the window, motioning to the outside. "I'm going fucking crazy staying in here all day." 

He watches as his curtains close for a second, and then he sees Wilbur, with his stupid hat over his regular beanie. Wilbur beams at him, taking off the hat and tossing it back at him. Tommy catches it with ease, setting the piece of cloth back down on his nightstand. "I'd take you out at night or when it rains," Wilbur tells him. "Phil would take you out normally, but.." Tommy sighs. There it is, Tommy thinks to himself. The catch, the if, the but, the what if. It would have been easier if Wilbur had just told him no, but now he's going to go off on a ramble on why Tommy isn't allowed outside, and Tommy really just doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to hear why he's not allowed to move from this bed, he doesn't need the details or the reasoning. "You're still healing. Moving you too far from this bed could keep you here even longer." Tommy nods, swallowing back the words he wants to say. 

Of course. He's not allowed to move or else he might hurt himself even more. _Of_ _fucking course_. Tommy doesn't know why he's sad about it, he doesn't know why he's surprised, he should have known that was going to be the answer, but he didn't, and it hurts even more hearing the words be said so calming, so kindly. Wilbur is so fucking kind and calm and nice, and Tommy hates it, he hates him and Phil so, so much. "Okay." He whispers, feeling his throat swell up. He feels like he's going to cry, which is stupid, he shouldn't want to cry over something like _this_. Tommy shouldn't cry at all, he shouldn't be crying, he shouldn't..he shouldn't...

Tommy shakes his head, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He's not going to cry, he refuses to cry, especially not in front of a stranger, especially not in front of Wilbur. He turns to stare down at the salad in front of him, and he wishes more than anything that he could leave all of this behind.

* * *

Admittedly, Tommy thinks that things could be worse.

Arguably. 

Life is pretty fucking shit, but he thinks that everything could be so much worse. He got lucky, he thinks, that he was found by Phil and Wilbur and not anyone else. Phil is way too nice to him, he's way too kind and he doesn't make Tommy feel like shit for not being able to fly. He doesn't even fly where Tommy can see him anymore, which he thinks that he might appreciate a little more than he actually would ever let on. Phil is funny, too. He likes to laugh and make jokes, but he's kind and supportive and is just way, way too nice of a person in general. Tommy doesn't understand how someone like Phil can exist, especially not in this hellhole of a world, and yet somehow he manages to do just that. Wilbur is sort of the same, though Tommy wants to punch him in the face significantly more often. Wilbur's a snarky son of a bitch with a stupid grin always on his face. Wilbur is nice, too. He's kind and funny and he never makes Tommy feel bad, not on purpose, at least. 

Being forced to live with two strangers could have gone a hell of a lot worse, and Tommy is unbelievably thankful that it's going as well as it is. He thinks that he's a lot less angry than he was when he first was picked up and brought here, which is..nice. It's nice to not be as mad all the time. It feels a hell of a lot better to not be constantly bitter and pissed off, and Tommy is thankful that he's getting better. Even though he still can't get out of bed or feel anything below his waist, things are getting better. Slowly but surely, things are finally starting to look up. Tommy really hasn't been keeping track of the time that he's spent here, but he assumes that it's been a week, maybe a week and a half, though he's not entirely sure. He could ask Wilbur, but that would actually require _talking_ to Wilbur, and Tommy doesn't think he wants to hear Wilbur ramble on about something stupid for twenty minutes before he gets to the actual point. It's sort of endearing, if Tommy thinks hard enough about it. Phil and Wilbur are both sort of endearing, they're both sort of stupidly kind and funny and nice and sweet, both in their own ways. Tommy doesn't know how he managed to get sort-of kidnapped by two of the nicest people around, but he somehow managed. 

"Hey," Phil knocks on the door three times, just like he always does. Unlike Wilbur, Phil actually knocks, which Tommy appreciates a lot more than he ever thought that he would. "You all good in there, mate?" Phil asks, his voice just slightly concerned. He always sounds ever so slightly concerned whenever he talks to him, and Tommy isn't entirely sure why, but he thinks that he could make a pretty good guess. "I've got some shit ready for breakfast if you're up to eating right now. If you're even awake, who the fuck knows," Phil laughs, sounding like he's smiling. He probably is. Phil smiles a lot, Tommy's noticed. "Tommy?"

"I'm all good," Tommy confirms, leaning up in bed, twisting his back to the left, then to the right. He winces a little when he hears it pop. He cracks his neck, turning it to the side a few times to properly pop it. He cracks his knuckles a few seconds later, feeling a bit better than he had only a moment or two ago. "What did you bring me, Philza?" Tommy asks, quirking up an eyebrow, watching as Phil pushes open the door with his foot, carrying a tray in the crook of his arm. "Jesus Christ, Phil, you good there?" Tommy laughs, ducking his head as he watches Phil stumble in through the door, nearly dropping the plate that he's carrying. "Philza, I hope you know that I don't need to eat _that_ much, holy shit." 

"Shut the fuck up, _child_ ," Phil snarks back at him, a grin plastered on his face, his eyes sparkling as he narrows them at Tommy. Tommy grins back at him, crossing his arms against his chest as he watches Phil adjust his grip on the plate, shifting a little on his feet. "Nah, I just figured I'd bring you some options. Whatever you don't eat, Wilbur will. He's not very picky," he smiles, setting the tray down on Tommy's lap. Tommy stares down at it, smiling just ever so slightly at what Phil brought him this time. There are different types of berries and nuts, a small salad, fruits scattered around the lettuce. "You feeling any better than normal, mate? You got any feeling back in your legs?" Phil asks, titling his head to the side. He leans back on his heels, swaying on his feet as he does. His wings are folded back, and Tommy wonders what it would feel like to be able to fly. He wonders that a lot. He's been wanting to fly even more ever since he saw Phil's wings, he's been wanting to fly even more ever since he lost the ability to walk. 

"Not really," Tommy admits, picking at the salad and fruits, biting down on his lip as he stares down at the food in front of him. "Can we not talk about that?" He looks back up at Phil, frowning. "I'm in a not shit mood right now, and if we start talking about me walking or whatever, I'm just gonna feel like fucking shit," he sighs, ducking his head. "I mean, I guess we can talk about it if you _want_ , but nothing has changed, and it's just-"

Phil holds up a hand, cutting him off before he can start listing off the same things he's been feeling for the past week or so. "Nah, it's all good," Phil smiles at him, dragging the chair from Tommy's desk over by his bed. Tommy sighs, not entirely sure if it's in relief or not. "Will should be back in a bit. He's just trying to stay outside as long as he can," Phil motions over to the curtains, to the open window. Tommy breathes in, smelling rain, tasting it on his tongue. When it rains, Wilbur always disappears until it stops. Tommy wonders what it's like to only be allowed to go outside when it's raining or when it's dark, and he thinks that he sort of understands. He's not allowed to go outside at all, and it's not because of his powers. It's because of his lack of powers, Tommy thinks bitterly to himself. If he had just been careful, if he had just not tried to simulate flying, he wouldn't be here right now. Fucking _stupid_. "You two actually get along a lot better than I thought you would," Phil laughs, his voice interrupting Tommy's thoughts. "You and Will. I figured that he'd bully the fuck out of you." 

Tommy grins, ducking his head. Wilbur _does_ bully the fuck out of him. "Nah, I fucking hate that dude," Tommy tells him, only half-convinced that he actually does. "Wilbur Soot? More like Wilbur _shit_ , am I right?" Phil bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. "He's annoying. I reckon I could punch him in the face and he wouldn't stop complaining about it for ten years. He's so _loud_ , Philza," Tommy sighs, leaning back in bed. "All he ever does is talk about songs and how sad he is. He is a sad, sad man. That's all there is to him. Music and sad." 

"Music and sad," Phil repeats, grinning. "Sounds like Will, yeah," he laughs, nodding a few times. "He's a lot less sad than he was when we first met, believe it or not. Both you and Will have done a lot better for yourselves in a really short amount of time. I'm proud of you both," Phil smiles at him, and the words are so sudden that they feel like whiplash. Tommy blinks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that, fucker," Phil laughs, ducking his head. "I'm serious, mate. You both have done really well. I don't think that I'd be strong enough to get through what you guys are going through. I'm proud of you, Tommy. I'm proud of both of you. I think that you'll heal pretty fucking soon, Tommy. You've already healed more than I thought you would, your mood is getting better, _you're_ getting better. Against everything," Phil beams at him, "you're persevering. And I think that's something to be proud of."

Tommy blinks at Phil a few times, feeling shocked and happy and a few other emotions he can't quite pinpoint. "I'm.." he opens his mouth, shutting it nearly a second later. He doesn't know what to say, and he swears to god it's the first time in his life that he's completely shocked. He's at a loss for words, and he doesn't know how the hell Phil managed to make him draw a complete blank on what to say. What can he even say to that? _Thank you?_ That doesn't feel like enough, it doesn't feel like enough to tell Phil what those words actually mean to him. They mean way more than Tommy thinks that he would ever like to admit to. "Farming..farming aws, I see," Tommy clears his throat, offering a sort-of smile over at the man. Phil grins back at him, seemingly entirely unphased by Tommy's deflection, thank god. "You're not getting my pity points, old man."

Phil laughs, tilting his head back when he does. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grins, crossing his legs as he leans back in the chair. "Whatever you say, Tommy. You gonna eat any of that, or am I gonna have to force feed it to you?" Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "I mean, I guess I could just give it all to Will, but that motherfucker is going to eat all of the goddamn food in the house if I don't limit him. I swear, he goes on fucking snack raids in the middle of the night when he _knows_ that I'm asleep. Son of a bitch is lucky that I can tolerate him." Tommy grins, feeling happier than he has in a long time. 

"You can tolerate me?" 

Tommy sighs, rolling his eyes when he hears Wilbur's voice echo in his ears. He sees the man appear a second later, his hair damp and his clothes wet, almost certainly from his time spent out in the rain. Wilbur looks energized, he looks like he's full of life. Wilbur beams and bounces on his heels, and he looks so unbelievably happy that it's almost endearing. "Ah," Tommy heaves a sigh, narrowing his eyes at the man. "I was living a nice life of peace up until you got here, you absolute fuck."

Wilbur grins at him, crossing his arms against his chest. "Says you, _child_ ," Wilbur's grin only widens, and Tommy silently thinks to himself that it's nice to see Wilbur happy. It's rare that Tommy can manage to get a genuine smile out of Wilbur, though he thinks that it's probably the same for him. It's nice, he thinks, that they're all doing better. Even if it's just a little, and even if it doesn't last and they're all back to feeling like shit tomorrow, at least they got today. "What're we talking about? How can I absolutely dominate this conversation and just not let you get a word in?" 

"Well, I _was_ talking about kicking you out of the house.." Phil grins, and Tommy laughs at the faux-shock on Wilbur's face. 

Things are getting better, Tommy thinks, and he's unbelievably thankful for that. He's unbelievably thankful that he's allowed to heal with two people he thinks that he might just be starting to consider family.

* * *

Life is bullshit, and happy endings are a fucking lie. 

Tommy stares up at his ceiling, trying his best to block out Phil's voice from his ears. He doesn't want to hear the man talk, he doesn't want to hear him at all. He just wants to be left alone, but no one will leave him alone, and it's pissing him off to no end. Tommy _knows_ that by now he should be trying to get out of bed and walk, and he _knows_ that that's what he wants to do. Tommy wants to walk again, he wants to move and be free and run around and do stupid shit on his own, but he just _doesn't want to get up_. He doesn't understand why, since this was the goal he was looking forward to ever since he got here. Tommy doesn't understand why he can't get up, why he can't force himself to move. He doesn't get why he's so pissed off, why he's angry and mad and ready to yell at Phil for the simplest of things. 

"Tommy. Come on, you said you'd try today," Phil's voice is low, persistent. _Insistent_. He doesn't sound angry or harsh at all, but Tommy isn't fucking impressed by that because Phil _never_ sounds angry or harsh. Tommy tries his best to roll away from Phil, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut, wishing that he could just block out all the noise in this stupid, small room. He doesn't want to hear what Phil has to say, he doesn't want to hear how he promised that he'd try and walk today. Tommy doesn't want to fucking hear it, but Phil is going to make him listen, and he doesn't _want to_. "Tommy, seriously. We need to work on this now, or else you might be bedridden forever, mate. Come on, you _know_ this. I told you this since day one, you need to get up and start working towards walking again or else it'll never happen, and you'll be here for the rest of your life. You're starting to feel things in your legs again, which is great. It's so impressive-"

"Shut the fuck _up_ ," Tommy groans, narrowing his eyes sharply at the man in front of him. "I don't fucking care. I don't want you in here, I want to be alone," he sneers, wondering when Phil will realise that pushing him to do something he doesn't want to do will only piss him off more. Tommy glares at him, wishing that looks could kill. Phil is nice, Phil has been nothing but kind to him, but right now, Tommy wants nothing more other than to punch him in the throat. "I don't fucking care, Phil. I'm not going to get up, I'm not going to fucking walk, what the fuck makes you think I _can?_ " He scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. His legs tingle a little, feeling like needles and pinpricks all at once. "Just 'cause I can sort of feel shit doesn't mean anything. It's just gonna be fucking disappointing when I can't actually do it." 

Tommy feels like complete shit, and he knows damn well that if he tries to get up and walk, he'll fail. If he fails, Tommy doesn't know if he'll ever be able to try again. It doesn't help that all of this is his fault. _He_ did this to himself. If he hadn't been so fucking stupid, so fucking reckless, this would have never happened. This is all his fault, and this is his punishment for his actions, Tommy's sure of it. In return for being a fucking idiot, he's lost the ability to move, to walk. It makes sense. It makes so much more sense than Tommy ever thought it would, and though he fucking hates it, it's just how it is. 

"That's not right," Phil shakes his head, sighing. "You have to try, Tommy, or else you'll never know. Even if you fall, I'll be there to catch you," Phil stands up from his chair, turning away for a few seconds. "Wilbur would do the same. We both will. Tommy," Phil turns back to face him, his eyes sad and soft. "We _love_ you. Wilbur would never admit it, 'cause he's a stubborn son of a bitch, but I can say it. We love you, both of us do. We just want you to get better. I'd do anything for you to heal, mate. Anything," Phil sighs, breathing out. Tommy stares at him, feeling his chest ache at the words that leave Phil's mouth. "I'll go. But I'm being serious, Tommy. I want you to get up tomorrow. I want to try. I want you to try, and I want to see you thrive. You're gonna walk, even if it kills me to get you to do so. Okay, mate?" 

And then he's gone, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts. 

_Fuck_.

* * *

Tommy is unbelievably sick and tired of being in this stupid old house. He hates being here more than he ever thought that he could, and he thinks that he's even more sick and tired of the people that he lives with. He knows that he shouldn't, because Phil and Wilbur are two of the nicest people that Tommy has ever met, but he can't _help_ it. He's so pissed off and angry all the time, and he can't help but take it out on the two people who probably care about him more than his own goddamn family. Tommy can't remember the last time his own family said that they loved him, he can't remember when he wasn't treated like he didn't mean anything just because his wings didn't work. Tommy looks over his shoulder, biting down on his lip as he stares at his wings. They weakly flutter up, flapping a few times. They're red and white, primarily white, and they're so fucking small. They're weak and fragile, they're not even worth having.

Tommy thinks that if he could cut them off, he would. If he could get rid of his wings, he would. It would be so much easier to just not have them, and Tommy wishes that he didn't _have_ to have them. He wishes to fucking god he didn't have to see them every single day of his life and be reminded of the one thing he wishes he could do more than anything in his entire life. He thinks that he would kill to be able to fly, he thinks he would do anything to be able to fly. He's a goddamn avian, and he's still not able to do the one thing that his powers are supposed to let him do. He's a hybrid who's barely even a hybrid. He's more of a human than anything, and it pisses him off so much. 

It doesn't help that he can't even walk, he can't even _move_. He's stuck in bed all the time, every single waking moment of his life is spent in this stupid, goddamn bed, and he hates it. Tommy knows that if he wants to start moving and walking again then he actually has to try and get up to do those things, but it's so _difficult_. It's _so_ hard, and he doesn't think that either Phil or Wilbur realise that. Maybe Wilbur does, Tommy thinks to himself a second later. Wilbur seems to understand a lot more than Tommy thought he would. Wilbur is understanding and nice, they both are, and Tommy hates that so fucking much. He hates that they treat him like somehow this isn't his fault. Him not being able to walk is entirely his fault, it's his fault for trying to get in a stupid adrenaline rush. It's Tommy's fault for trying to fly, or trying his best to simulate what he thinks it'd be like to fly. It's his fault, all of this, it's all his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid, this would have never happened to him. If Tommy had just accepted the fact that he'd never be able to fly, this would have never happened. He'd still be able to walk, he'd still be able to run and move and to do everything that he used to be able to do. 

But now he's stuck in this stupid bed in this stupid room in this stupid house, and he fucking hates it. Tommy is so tired of being here, he's so tired of having to listen to Phil and Wilbur talk. He's so tired of it all, he's so tired of himself. He's so _tired_ in general, and he wishes so desperately that he wasn't. Tommy doesn't understand why he's so angry and bitter all the time, he doesn't understand why he's constantly pissed off at everyone including himself and including the world, but he is, and he doesn't think that there's much he can do to stop being like that. He's tried, Tommy has tried so hard to stop being angry and pissed off all the time, but it just doesn't work, so he's given up. There's no point in wasting his energy trying to stop being angry all the time. It's a hell of a lot easier to just be bitter and mad rather than actually try to stop being like that, Tommy has learnt. Being bitter is so much easier than trying to stop. 

"Tommy," Wilbur's voice rings out, too loud and too close for comfort. Tommy blinks open his eyes, staring over at the man in the corner of his room. Wilbur doesn't knock like Phil does, Wilbur just goes incorporeal and walks through his door. Tommy wishes that he was able to tell whenever Wilbur wandered into his room, it would make it a lot easier for him to tell him off before he stood there for minutes on end, waiting for the perfect opportunity to start talking. "You're looking at me like you've seen a ghost," a small smile tugs up on Wilbur's lips at the joke, and Tommy narrows his eyes at him. He doesn't want to talk to Wilbur right now. He doesn't want to talk to Wilbur for a long time, he thinks. He doesn't want to talk to anyone. "You should eat something," Wilbur tells him. "You haven't had anything in a day or two now. Phil tells me that you-"

"Phil can shut the fuck up," Tommy suggests, sneering at the man. "I don't fucking care about eating right now, Wilbur. I'm not in the mood to talk to you. I don't want you here, I don't-"

"Too bad," Wilbur tells him. He props his leg up behind him, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. He tilts his head up a little, head tilted towards the window. He's just out of reach of the sun, standing in the only shadowed corner of the room. Wilbur looks tired, he looks exhausted. He always looks exhausted, Tommy thinks to himself. Wilbur looks back at him, his eyes faintly glowing in the shade. "I'm not in the mood to talk to you either, and yet here I am," Wilbur smiles a little, his eyes just ever so slightly narrowed. "You need to start eating. You need to start trying to move. You need to do these things," Wilbur moves forwards, and Tommy jolts up. He's walking into the sun. "Or else you're never going to get out of that bed," Wilbur winces, his face contorting in pain. "You have to."

"Will, get out of the fucking sun," Tommy tells him, feeling his eyes go wide. "You're going to burn. Get out of the fucking sun, Wilbur, get out of the _fucking sun_." 

Wilbur smiles, looking like he's in agony, which he has to be. The sun burns him so badly that he can't even be in it for more than a few seconds, and it's most certainly been more than a few seconds. "I'm self-destructive, too, Tommy. I know what it's like," he whispers, gasping out in pain. "I can stand here until I collapse. I can stand here until I set myself on fire. I can do this all day, Tommy," Wilbur stumbles back, clutching at the side of his face. "I can stand in the sun for my entire life and never move, even though it's hurting me. I can stand in the sun and die there. I can stand in the sun and continue to do so, even though it's killing me, even though I want to do other things," Wilbur breathes out, his chest heaving. "You can sit in bed all day, Tommy. You can do that, you totally can. You can sit in bed all day and never try to move, and you can stay in bed 'till you die. You can do that," Wilbur moves his hand away from his face, showing the new burn marks that go down the side of his face, bright red and angry, already starting to welt. "But is it worth it?" 

And then he's gone, disappearing without another word.

* * *

Tommy is the first one to hear the knock at the door. It's been months now, he thinks to himself as he looks out of the window. It's winter now, and he fell and broke his legs around spring. He perks up a little, shifting on his bed as he looks at his door. "Wilbur! Phil!" He calls out, even though he really doesn't feel like talking to either of them. Tommy very rarely wants to talk to the other two people in the house. "Someone's here, someone's knocking at the front door!" Tommy adds on a few seconds later, hopeful that those extra words will make them just go to the front door rather than come to his room, as well. Unfortunately for him, life doesn't seem to want to go his way, and a second later his door is swinging open. Wilbur stands in front of him, an eyebrow raised. 

"How the hell did you manage to hear that from all the way over here?" Wilbur asks, his arms crossed. He shifts out of the way of the open window, hiding in the shade. He's as far away as he can be from the sun, and Tommy feels a pang of guilt settle in his chest as he looks at the man. His face is burnt, it's horribly red and welted. "You've got better hearing than I do, and that's not very fair of you, Tommy," Wilbur teases. "How are you?"

Tommy opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but his door opens, again, a second later. Standing in the door frame is a boy who looks to be about his age, maybe a little younger, with messy brown hair and floating pieces of purple metal around him. 

"Hey," the boy waves at him, a soft smile settling onto his face. His eyes are sort of green mixed with purple and gold, and he looks way too fucking nice. Most people that Tommy's met recently have been way too fucking nice, especially to him. "I'm Tubbo," the boy, Tubbo, tells him. Tubbo is a stupid name, Tommy decides to himself nearly immediately. "I think we're gonna be roommates." 

Tommy blinks.

"Phil, what the fuck," he looks over at the older man, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you have another room? I don't fucking.." he trails off, curling his lip up at the boy in front of him. "Phil?" Phil offers him a sort-of a smile and a wave of his hand. 

"Well, Tommy. Meet Tubbo," Phil sighs, looking sort of guilty. "Tubbo, meet Tommy. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience on both of you, but I don't have another room. Tubbo's only going to be here until the winter ends," Phil tells him. "It'll only be a month or two before he's gone. Is that alright?" 

No, Tommy thinks, it fucking isn't alright. 

But Tubbo smiles at him in a way that doesn't make him feel guilty or bad for not moving. Tubbo looks like a decent person, he looks..nice. He looks _kind_. He doesn't look like a fucking prick. 

So Tommy opens his mouth, and though he tries his best, the word that comes out of his mouth isn't _no_. 

It's _yes._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my best friend exe for beta reading this ily fucker
> 
> also long comments? POG AS FUCK i will try my absolute best to respond to them too!! don't feel obligated though LMAO :D


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